She is out and about in te world and realises that the whole world is some kind of farm and that the it’s all like a stage play, an illusion. (E.g. A man pretending to be Cliff Richard walks by, but he is only 5ft 2” and unconvincing.

Some shooting breaks out and bullets hit my wife but it is as if they are unspent rounds that just fall on her. People scurry around to get cover and my wife decides to enter a building and go up a couple of floors to hide in a cupboard.

When she opens the cupboard door there is a white painted room inside and around twenty people (men and women) sat around a table, drinking coffee. They are all smiles and say “Welcome”. My wife is aware that these are the people who have been running the “show”.

She challenges them by saying how it is all an illusion and that even their actors are unconvincing now (re: Cliff Richard above). She leaves, goes downstairs and, still in the building, is greeted by a man in his early twenties who, she somehow knows, is their son. He is friendly and seems to want my wife to look after him. There is a blast and he is burned, down the front of him.

My wife puts him in his car and shouts for help as she doesn’t know how to drive this type of car. A woman saunters over, unconcerned. She can’t drive it either. At this point my wife has another intuition that this is not real either and the car, the young man and the woman disappear.

She looks towards the double doorway that is the exit and workmen are starting to demolish the building. She goes outside onto a grassed area where the light is now golden. George Ure comes over to her laughing uncontrollably. “It’s all been an illusion,” she says. “I know,” he manages to say through his laughter,” and it’s all coming to an end. It’s all finished.”